little bird ~ 1987/age 17
the light flashed green,
something in my heart, in the stoplight
told me to walk.
You watched me
standing in the doorway,
you chased me down the hall,
down the elevator
but stopped in the doorway, standing.
Barefoot, long-haired bird
I tried to fly.
I chasedthe approving stoplight;
dreams of freedom,
unchained heart.
The drops from the sky fell
tears from my eyes,
flashing yellow to red
-- don't walk it said --
don't fly in stormy skies.
I clenched you tightly,
two little birds with broken wings
wrists tied; we cannot fly.
Later, we'd carry on, putting the storm away,
though my mind still raced with airborne visions.
You clenched me like a child, you
chew my flesh,
I wail, I cry, take me higher
yes, take me to the sky, still, we cannot fly.
You looked so beautiful under the storm.
Your hair in your eyes, glowing
under the fiery stoplight
redlight
said, don't walk,
never fly, little bird,
with broken wings, with your heart tied
you can never fly.
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